


A Nice Trip to the UK

by mylifeinshadow



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Multi, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-28 16:44:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20781821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mylifeinshadow/pseuds/mylifeinshadow
Summary: It starts out innocently enough—a case overseas, a serial killer with a paranormal twist. You think nothing of it, until the unmistakable sound of a powerful woman in heels meets your ears. Your partner clearly hears it too, an eyebrow arching as the two of you make eye contact





	A Nice Trip to the UK

**Author's Note:**

> Switched up POV a bit at the end. Hopefully it makes sense.

× Scully ×

It starts out innocently enough—a case overseas, a serial killer with a paranormal twist. You think nothing of it, until the unmistakable sound of a powerful woman in heels meets your ears. Your partner clearly hears it too, an eyebrow arching as the two of you make eye contact. But nothing prepares you for the woman that enters the room.

The heels belong to a pair of legs that appear to go on forever, topped off with a well fitting skirt and a silk blouse. You don’t have to so much as glance at Mulder to know that he’s ogling her ass. The detective that she’d stopped to speak to points over in your direction, and you’re able to catch a glimpse of her head on. You’re immediately struck by her beauty, but there’s something familiar that you just can’t put your finger on. At least, not until Mulder stops gawking long enough to nudge you.

“You’d make a great blonde, Scully,” he rasps in your ear, and you fight the urge to shiver. You’re immediately annoyed with him, and you can’t help but think that this is the difference between you and this woman. Where you’re admittedly a bit uptight, intent on being taken seriously in a male dominated workforce, this woman oozes sexuality. Yet, she demands respect at the same time. You’re immediately intrigued. Unfortunately, the same can be said about Mulder.

She introduces herself as Stella Gibson, and while he remains professional, you can tell that he’s taken with her. He spouts his theories proudly—a telekinetic male, he’s decided. The look that Stella gives him implies that she’s less than impressed with his hypothesis, and for a moment, you’re incredibly pleased.

By the time he’s done speaking, her expression has changed. There’s no doubt in your mind that she still thinks he’s absolutely insane, but there’s something more now. Something that, as a woman, you’re able to recognize as hunger. And just like that, you’re taken back to a time before Antarctica, a time before drug induced proclamations of love—a small town of New Hampshire, where you let your jealousy get the best of you. That same feeling immediately begins to churn in your gut, and you feel as if you’re going to be sick.

The detective’s gaze shifts to you, and you arch an admittedly judgemental eyebrow at her in return. To your surprise, she seems almost pleased by your response. Suddenly, you can’t wait to get the hell out of England.

It appears that luck is on your side. The three of you bury yourself into the work, any tension pushed aside in order to solve the case. Mulder sticks to his theory, of course, and the first night yields no results. By the next night, you have a few leads, and an arrest is made by following evening.

The next flight doesn’t leave until the next day, and there’s an unspoken agreement to spend another night at the hotel before you make the two hour trek back to London in the morning. You’re more than ready to get the hell out of here—to never have to watch this woman and Mulder make eyes at each other again.

Mulder’s off saying goodbye to the other officers that were assigned to this case, and you find yourself without a buffer as Gibson approaches you. You give her a polite, tight lipped smile. All you want to do is skip the polite farewells and head back to your hotel room for a long soak in the tub, but clearly Stella has other plans.

You’re more than a little curious when she asks you to swing by her room later. Surely, she doesn’t need Scully’s advice when it comes to Mulder. She doesn’t strike you as the kind of woman to ask. She’s more of a go getter. Immediately, you’re intrigued. It’s not that you don’t like her, after all. You firmly believe that strong women in male dominated fields need to stick together. You wonder if maybe you’ve been reading this whole thing between her and Mulder wrong. Against your better instincts, you find yourself agreeing.

×××

It’s just after 8 when you reach the door to her hotel room, your stomach in knots. Try as you might, you can’t just seem to pull yourself together. Something about this just feels really off. You weren’t sure what you were hoping when you’d agreed—besides satisfying a curiosity. You’d thought maybe a little wine and girl talk; something you’ve gone without for longer than you care to admit.

You definitely don’t expect the sight that greets you. Prim and proper Stella Gibson is without her heels, shirt untucked with several buttons open, hair slightly mussed. She still manages to look intimidating, even like this. But you can’t help but take pleasure in the newfound knowledge that even she appears disheveled after a long day of work. You accept her invitation inside with a smile, and that’s when things take a turn for the worse.

On Stella’s bed, in a similar state of disarray, sits Mulder, who looks just as surprised to see you.

“Scully,” he blurts out, immediately standing. You almost expect him to tell you it’s not what it looks like—almost will him to say it. But you both know he’d be lying. He asks what you’re doing there instead, stumbling over his words.

The knot in your stomach twists, your heart in your throat. Weeks ago, he was kissing you as the ball dropped on tv and now…

“That’s what I was wondering,” you manage, looking pointedly at the blonde, who has the nerve to appear just as surprised. She swirls a glass of red wine, studies you, studies Mulder.

“I apologize,” she begins, though she doesn’t seem sorry at all. “It appears I’ve misjudged the situation. I didn’t realize that you were a couple.”

Anger quickly gives way to confusion, and you have to wonder what her game plan was here if that was her understanding. Flaunt this affair in front of you? Allow you to catch him the act? It doesn’t make any sense no matter which way you spin it.

“We’re not,” you grit out through clenched teeth, and Gibson merely hums in response. You hate this. Emotions completely on display. Being studied by this woman like you're—like you’re an animal. You’ve had enough, and you’re ready to storm out and catch a car to London tonight when she speaks again.

“But you are sleeping together.”

It’s not even a question. It’s as if she already knows; just seeking confirmation. Your jaw drops, and you try desperately to hold back the sting of tears. A nice trip to the UK, Mulder had called it. A nice, welcome vacation. You should’ve known something would go wrong. It had all been too easy.

“No,” you finally clarify. You want nothing more than to run, but your feet remain planted to the ground. You have to wonder if you look as pathetic as you feel; sitting here fighting your eyes from flooding as you ruin what you suspect was a perfectly satisfying moment between two, unfortunately, consenting adults.

A gentle hand sooths over your arm, and you jump at the sudden contact. The blonde doesn’t pull back, merely jerks her head in the direction of the bathroom. Your options are limited. You can run, you can follow Stella, or you can remain in uncomfortable silence with the man you’ve recently accepted you’re in love with—the man who’s currently covered in another woman’s lipstick.

While you’d love nothing more to get the hell out of here, you can’t stand the thought of leaving them alone together. You risk a glance at your partner only to see his head in his hands. Not a chance. With a roll of your eyes, you follow her.

She’s leaned back against the vanity when you enter, and she kicks the door mostly closed. You want to yell, to swear, to ask her what she’s doing, but you’re just so fucking tired. Instead, you take a seat next to her, steal her wine.

“Dana,” she sighs sympathetically, and you laugh into the glass as you take another gulp. Dana. Like she knows you. Like you two are the best of friends.

“Why did you invite me here?” It’s straightforward, sure, but you no longer have the energy to beat around the bush. Apparently neither does she, a sympathetic smile touching her lips.

“I misjudged you situation. I thought perhaps now that the case is finished, we might all…enjoy one another’s company.”

It takes a moment for this to truly sink in, and one it does, you find yourself sputtering. You nearly choke on the wine, your face and neck flushing in an instant.

“Jesus, Gibson,” you croak, and she laughs in response, nudging you gently with her shoulder. You can’t help thinking about it, try as you might. As much as you’d loathe to share him (if he were even yours to share), it’s an arousing thought.

As if she can read your mind, she turns to you, allowing her fingertips to trail sensually down your arm. Goosebumps follow, and you find yourself gaping at her, vibrant eyes pulling you in.

“You’re a very intriguing woman, Dana,” she whispers lowly, and your gaze falls to her lips instinctively.

Mulder chooses that exact moment to make an appearance, and he gawks at you from the doorway. From the look on his face, the puzzle pieces are finally clicking into place. He shifts from foot to foot restlessly, and your eyes fall upon the slight bulge in his slacks. Such a man, you think. His eyes meet yours, and suddenly all you can think about is surprising him, punishing him.

Stella watches you carefully, allowing you to take the lead on this. You hardly know this woman, yet she seems to anticipate your every move. There’s Mulder, your partner of the last seven years, the man that you like to think knows you better than anyone. You think back to Jerse. How indignant Mulder was. It makes the choice for you

She’s smiling softly, almost expectantly as your lips brush against hers. Her lips are amazingly soft beneath your own, her tongue gentle as it probes your mouth. You quickly find yourself getting carried away, fingers tangling through her hair. Your tongue strokes over hers, and a soft, masculine grunt catches your attention.

The sound has you both pulling apart, and you find that Mulder’s eyes are on you, questioning, concerned. It almost pisses you off, makes you want this more, and before you can unpack that thought, Stella is pulling you toward him. Your hand goes to his chest instinctively.

“Scully,” he whispers, and you refuse to hear the warning, refuse to see the distress in his eyes. Your lips just barely sweep over his, and you can feel his resolve breaking. You press against him more firmly, feel his erection press against your belly, and just like that, he’s giving in.

His hand grasps the back of your neck, tongue lapping at your lower lip until you’re gasping, allowing him access to your mouth. He’s hungry, desperate, drinking from you, and just like that you’re shaking, moaning into his mouth, almost overstimulated. You pull back, take a step away, and you’re almost grateful for Stella when she moves in to take your place.

Their kiss is relatively short in comparison, and before the jealousy can begin churning in your gut, Gibson’s gentle fingers are toying with your blouse. You hum as her she presses open mouthed kisses to your neck, rids you of your top. Try as you might, you can’t avoid his lidded gaze, can’t hide the mischief shining in your own.

Your soft moan spurs him into action, and within seconds Stella’s top is gone, her slender body sandwiched between yours and his. Her fingers brush over the lace of your bra, and he mirrors those actions on her body.

In an instant, she’s leading you back into the bedroom. Clothing is shed, and by the time you’re reclined back on the bed, you find yourself naked save for a pair of lace panties. He’s hovered over you, following Stella’s lead as she worships your body. You’re overwrought by sensation, two pairs of lips teasing your breasts. You arch, tremble, unfamiliar sounds rippling from your throat.

Blonde curls drift south, and he assists, swearing as he pulls your panties down your legs. His lips burn a trail down to your hip as Stella’s work their way up your thigh. She murmurs something against your skin, and he shifts into action, ridding himself of his boxers.

Three gasps reach your ears simultaneously, and you realize that he’s buried himself inside of Stella just as her tongue makes its first stroke through your heat. She’s skilled, her tongue lapping at your clit as two fingers thrust inside of you. The sensation is almost too much, the vibrations from her soft moans of pleasure only amplifying things. Your fingers tangle in her hair, eyes clenched shut as your head rolls back and forth against the pillows. Your free hand reaches up to cup your own breast, fingers tugging as your nipple.

A deep groan forces your eyes open, and you’re met with near obsidian eyes boring into you. His thrusts are quick, hard, deep, and judging by the gasps from down below, Stella is quite enjoying the attention. But his eyes are shining with desire, glistening, completely focused on you.

Just like that, you find yourself precariously close to the edge. His hand leaves her hip, sloppily stroking your cheek. The combined stimulus has your hips bucking into the blonde’s face. Her cries rise in pitch and her lips capture your clit between your lips. In this position, with her fingers pistoning inside of you in time with Mulder’s thrusts, you can almost imagine it’s him fucking you like this.

The thought has you sobbing with pleasure, and his thumb strokes your cheek, pushes gently between your lips. You hollow your lips, suck at him, nibble at the pad of his finger until you can’t take it anymore.

“Yeah,” he murmurs in encouragement as your mouth falls open. “Come on,” he grunts, and you can hear the sound of Stella’s release from between your legs. Her fingers hook and rub against your front wall, and just like that, you’re flying. You’re crying out, jerking almost violently, but your eyes never leave his.

“Scully.” You watch his mouth form your name, watch his vision flood, commit to memory the sound of your name on his lips.

He collapses next to you, Stella’s head resting contentedly on your thigh. She excuses herself after a moment, and you feel a pang of jealously, knowing that she’s gone to wash up—all too cognizant of the fact that his come is dripping from her cunt. How lucky she is, and she doesn’t even realize. What you would give to be full of him.

It hits you all at once, what you’ve just done. He murmurs your name, reaches for your hand, as if he can ground you, put an end to your impending panic. You’re up before he can reach you, grabbing at any clothing you can find. The tears filling your eyes make it damn near impossible, and you’re pretty sure you’ve got his shirt and Stella’s skirt on, and you can’t find your underwear. But it doesn’t matter because he’s up and he’s moving tentatively toward you and you need to get out of here. Right now.

“I have to go,” you manage, and you rush out the door before he can speak.

× Mulder ×

You find yourself in the same position you were when this whole thing started. Rumpled sheets surround you, your eyes burn with unshed tears and your throat aches with unsaid words. The bed dips, a hand cupping your jaw, and you know instantly it’s not the woman you need right now. But the comfort feels so fucking good in the moment that you can’t resist leaning into it.

She kisses you, softly, sweetly, and you can detect Scully on her. You shove your tongue between her lips, taste every every crevice. God, you didn’t even get to taste Scully but you’re already so goddamn addicted its painful.

Before you can even begin to wonder how much of an invasion of privacy it would be to taste every last drop of Scully off of her tongue, she’s pulling away.

You must look absolutely pitiful, judging by the sad little smile she offers you. You can hear the bath running in the adjoining bathroom and you know it won’t be long until you’re left alone with your thoughts and your shattered heart and your partner’s taste on your tongue.

“Go to her,” she murmurs, tapping your cheek fondly. “Tell her.”

She disappears into the bathroom seconds later, and you gather your clothes quietly. You’re missing your shirt, the one that looked so fucking perfect wrapped around her tiny body, but a black scrap of fabric peeks out from under the bed. Against your better judgement, you shove them in your pocket and see yourself out


End file.
